What Does it Mean to Fall?
by morgrimmoon
Summary: A former paladin reflects on his fall from grace. Based on the Blackguard prestige class from the Dungeon Master's Guide


What does it mean to fall?

It is a question I ask myself, and that others ask me. But perhaps you do not understand what it is I talk about. I cannot go back to the beginning. I will go as far as I can. 

A little over two years ago I fell. That is a metaphor, of course. The height I tumbled from was not a cliff, or a building, or from the back of some flying mount; all of which I have managed to do before without greater repercussions than bruises and broken bones. No, the height I fell from was one of glory. I had seen it before, heroes becoming victims of pride and folly. My fall may have had elements of those mistakes, but mine is seen as far worse. And I am not sure I would change anything. 

I was a paladin, you see. Can you guess now at my crime? 

Some can. A paladin's soul is a prize in the war against chaos and evil. The claiming of such a soul is meant to entail the death of the paladin in question, a victory of the darkness in destroying one who strives against them, and also release into reward for the one who has stood against the tide for many years. Of course, some die to less terrible or honourable foes. Others realise that a paladin in not the vocation for them and leave the Order on peaceful terms. This is widely accepted. Many still help their former comrades. Still others break their vows and are flung out in disgrace. I suppose I fit into this category. I know I am no longer welcome. Actually, it is not because I am unwelcome that I avoid my former Order. I avoid them because they would kill me if they could. You see, I did not fall from folly or by breaking the law of the land. I fit in the category of traitors. I swore oaths to those I had sworn to destroy. 

Perhaps that means my word means little. Or perhaps I learnt that breaking a foolish oath was more honourable than going against my own morals. I was shown that the world is not of black and white, that no organisation is beyond blame, that every tale has at least two sides that must be heard. This is heresy, and I was apparently 'corrupted'. Perhaps that is true. Sages say that when you gaze long into the abyss, it gazes back into you. The Order teaches us not to let our will falter, that every being of the abyss will seek to seduce and corrupt us. I do not think that is the real reason we are encouraged into such hate. They do not want any to see the truth. They do not want any to see they are not as pure as they claim.

I suppose the next question is 'why'? If I do longer trusted the Order, why did I not quietly depart, change my name and hide from potential repercussions? I would have liked to. My life would certainly have been somewhat easier these past months if I was not forced to be constantly on my guard. No, I was flung down in a rather dramatic fashion. I was forced to show my hand when I barely knew my own cards. And what was this heinous and condemning act? I saved someone's life.

This is supposed to be a good thing. Except, of course, when the life in question is supposedly forfeit, and when you were the one supposed to end it. My embarrassed excuses for failing to do so were accepted, at first. My superiors thought that my skills were not as good as hoped and had caused my failure and now I was reluctant to admit this out of shame. I was not at fault until I heard she was to be executed at dawn, and I rescued her in front of the eyes of all. I had disobeyed direct orders and harmed my comrades and had no regret. I had clearly fallen.

I suppose you are wondering how this occurred. It is an odd tale, one I would scarcely believe if it had not been me bound up in it. My actions were illogical at best. I cannot explain why I saw so clearly and so swiftly. Perhaps I was fortunate.

She was in the service of one of the devil princes. I was to find this cell of false worshipers and destroy them. That was why I didn't kill her when I finally defeated her. I thought she might be more useful alive. It still took all of my strength to do that, and I spent several days recovering while keeping guard over her. I suppose that was the beginning of the end. It seemed cruel to gag her and she spent several hours talking. It took quite a while before she cajoled me into answering when she asked what was to be her fate, despite that fact it was obvious to both of us. Mutual agreement turned the topic elsewhere and we shared odd snippets of our lives. I was endeavouring not to become friends with her so I could perform the eventual execution. She asked why she needed to be killed rather than imprisoned and was surprised a paladin could kill an unarmed and bound prisoner. I wondered the same thing.

My only response, my only possible response, was that she was evil. Her counter was that evil was a point of view, but before I could respond she continued that she supposed her actions could have been seen as such. After all she had sacrificed people before. I nearly killed her then. I am not sure if my response was more due to my loathing of her actions or horror at how readily she admitted it, without a trace of guilt. She only smiled sweetly and asked if I'd ever killed before, and if so did I smite in the name of my god? I told her they deserved to die for their crimes. She asked me why I assumed the ones she had killed did not. I had to leave then to calm myself, and spent the hours til dawn in prayer. 

The next day I asked the locations of the others in her cult, and was suspicious when she gave several readily. Her reasoning was simple; they were individuals who had harmed her in some fashion in the past. She would not attack them herself but had no interest in protecting them, leaving them to live or die by their own skills. I made some disparaging comment about honour amongst fiends. "I haven't told you everyone, _paladin_. Those I trust will escape, even if they flee without most of their possessions. By the time you've found their trail they will have worked out what has happened and be gone. Then you can murder me and report your success to your prized Order." I was taken aback by the bitterness in her voice, and it took me a while to realise it was more because I doubted her loyalty to her friends than what I planned to do.

I was surprised to find her information was accurate, and over the next few weeks I managed to hunt down and kill all bar one that she had named. In a concealed cellar of one of their houses I found a man bound and helpless and obviously in pain. I did what I could for him and helped him to the temple when I saw that my skills would not be enough. He protested the whole way, begged me to just escort him to the nearest inn and claimed he would be fine. I suspected he may have been feverish and attempted to reassure him. Rarely have I been further from the truth. 

The healers there took him and treated him, as was their oath, but with hard eyes asked me to stay and not let him leave the room. I wondered what they had seen that I had not. Was he delusional and a danger to others? I had my answer shortly, when a priestess returned with one of the guard. I learnt that I had rescued a wanted man. I told them where I'd found him. The guard laughed. "Would 'ave served 'im right, too. If only all them fiend-worshipers took scum like this." I glared at him coldly and he shrugged. "'E'll be tried, of course, but the judge'll 'ave 'im executed, most likely. If you'd a known what 'e did you may've saved as some trouble. Tortured, raped and murdered children, 'e did. Least four of them, may they be at peace." 

My honour would not let me kill him now he was in custody, and the guard did not fault me for my actions. Indeed, he told me he was concerned some of his colleagues may forestall the hangman themselves. The exchange troubled me. It is far easier to condemn someone for harming innocents then for harming a criminal. I had to think about how they were only killing him to receive power from a devil prince to harden my heart. Another thought floated in my mind. If my honour could not let me kill a man like that while helpless, how could I justify killing a bound captive against who I had only evidence of worship? Would her confession of sacrifice count as sufficient grounds? 

It is amusing that I once had such doubts. According to the Order, a verbal prayer to a devil prince is enough to condemn one to death. And yet murder is not, if you claim it was in self defence by taunting them to take the first swing. That was something I had never stopped to consider before. 

I was plagued by such doubts even as I hunted down the final worshiper left in the area. Finding him was not difficult, as the shrine itself was within his house and he was there waiting for me. I had no illusions as to where his loyalties lay, for the taunted me repeatedly as we duelled around the pits of flame. Finally he stumbled, and I gathered the echoes of divine power blessed onto me and struck to smite him. Nothing happened. I am not sure which of us was more stunned. He recovered first, and gave a wicked grin as he struck me a grievous wound while my guard was lowered. The battle turned against me then, and it was only by my greater experience and sheer luck that I was victorious.

I staggered back to the same temple, where they took in my battered appearance and several deep wounds and did not ask why I had not healed myself. All assumed I had spent myself on more severe injuries or was too hurt to manage any magic at all. I did not tell them that wasn't why those skills had evaded me. I wasn't sure myself, and was too ashamed to admit my smite had failed. I knew that meant one thing; I had lost the divine favour and must learn from my mistakes and atone for them. All that eluded me was what exactly I had done wrong.

Was it something in the last fight? Perhaps it was my doubt, or my failing to recognise that captive as a foul murderer. I was even more uncertain about executing my prisoner. I would take her back to the Order and seek guidance. After all, it is easier to kill someone later than to bring them back to life. 

She was surprised when I woke her and told her of the journey to be made. I appreciated that she did not struggle as she was levered onto the back of my ever patient warhorse. That journey could be seen as a mistake. Her wrists were still bound behind her, so to prevent her falling she sat before me in the saddle with my arms wrapped around her to hold the reigns. It was a far too intimate position. I suspect she realised this and may have chosen to take advantage of it, because she asked me why I had decided not to kill her. I was silent for a while before at last replying that it was not for me to judge her. "And then why did you judge the others? Would you rather I tried to attack you again so that you could kill me too?" Again she had me trapped, and left me without response.

Her mind was keener than she at first revealed, and after a pause of some minutes she asked if I had found a sacrifice. She received her answer as my arms stiffened in surprise. I am not certain what motivated her to explain the methods of her cult; whether it was boredom or a wish for me to understand or an attempt to preserve her life at the end of our journey. It seemed they preferred to take criminals and not kidnap upstanding members of the community. The reasoning was logical if not for moral reasons: nobody cared if the underbelly of society killed each other unobtrusively. "And if we hadn't have caught him no-one would," she added, glancing over her shoulder. "That's why so many turn a blind eye; the situation aids everyone." I told her it still didn't make it right to murder, and asked if they took easy prey like beggars. Of course, she told me. Many businesses liked there being less beggars to annoy customers. But criminals were better since they were more of a challenge to capture and considered worthier sacrifices. Beggars often had no choice as to their occupation and should be treated with mercy, and I said so at great length. She shrugged and agreed with me, and revealed many felt the same way. Others disliked harming children, or friends of those allied with them, or had other reservations. Everyone has morals, she commented. Whether they were labelled 'evil' or not depended on how well their morals meshed with those of whoever was in power. I refuted this, but perhaps less strongly than I should have. I was trying to think of a reason why I knew the teachings of the Order were correct. It alarmed me that every argument that came to mind was easily countered. Such thoughts should not reside in a paladin's mind, and the sooner I could put this quest behind me the less danger I was in. 

The gatekeepers of the Order were surprised when we rode in. I refused to give an explanation. I only said that this girl had been involved in my mission, but I was not able to judge her. That comment led to many raised eyebrows and private queries about why I was unable to hand her over to the guards. Perhaps the masters of the Order expected an alarming tale of corruption amongst the city's populous. Their eyes were hard as I explained my failings, confessed that my actions appeared to have offended the god and I was at a loss as to why. Looks were exchanged, and I was sent to my cell to meditate and pray. The situation would be dealt with. 

I learnt later they had thought I might have had a curse placed upon me and not realised it. The other option was to them unthinkable; that I had broken my vows and questioned the Order's sacred doctrine, likely because of something that had occurred with the girl.

My fate was to be decided in several days, after they had put an end to everything in the most final way they knew. They would execute her at dawn, with full ceremony. 

Now I can see that those executions are nothing but a different form of sacrifice. 

I was not told of her impending death, for fear I would protest. I spent the night trying to still my mind for prayer and failing. I kept seeing the doctrines of the Order whirling behind my eyes, questioning them for the first time. Noticing things that I'd never contemplated before, the many commands to give evil no mercy except death without defining who the evil were. 

It was in the hour before daybreak that I donned my armour and saddled my horse, intending to ride through the green in search of peace. It was then that I saw her, raised on the platform while the funeral pyre was being stacked. I demanded to know what was going on. A foolish question, seeing the preparations being made. Of course I asked why, and commented that it had been a swift trial. My comrade snorted. He said he'd heard about how I had nearly been defeated at the last battle and how it was thought that some charm had been wrought upon me. Otherwise, why would I need to ask why the Order would execute one who had sacrificed to devils? To bring her back may have been misplaced mercy, but least here the guards would not let her go. 

My eyes sought hers. They were surprisingly calm and resigned. She had expected death, it seemed, yet that was not something I found strange. I saw the acceptance of death in the eyes of my comrades before every battle, as they saw in mine. What chilled me was the bitter satisfaction there. I had said that she would see trial, that the Order would seek justice above all as what divided us from others. She known otherwise, and was telling me so with her gaze. My doubts were inconvenient and were dismissed as a curse, both to validate the sentence and to maintain my own loyalty.

I was unprepared for how angry that knowledge made me. I was unprepared for how that anger was so similar to that which fuelled my smite. It felt appropriate that was so. 

My warhorse slowly walked toward the platform, hooves oddly echoing in the morning hush as people moved to let me through. No doubt they expected some endorsement of the pending execution or an apology for not finishing the job myself. Instead I halted beside the Master of the Order watching over the proceedings. I did not ask the many questions flooding my brain, knowing I dared not voice them in company. I merely commented it had been swift decision. I should have noticed his hand resting on his sword hilt, how the muscles in his arms were tense and how his face had schooled to blankness. He doubted me, thought that I would make some foolish action. Yet at that point I had no such plans. I intended to ride away and not return until the flames had died and the ashes been raked. My actions were of pity, not defiance. I glanced across at her, her wrists still roped behind her and a guard on each side, and when I looked back down the Master's sword was in my face and all perfectly still for the space of a heartbeat. I started back in shock and my mount reared, one hoof striking solidly across his wrist and sending the blade skittering across the flagstones. I was about to dismount and fervently apologise when the Master screamed an order from his supine position; "Hold him!" 

I spun my horse so tightly it seemed he had pivoted on his hind legs. A dozen or so of my comrades were looking at me, rather stunned. None charged at me. Perhaps it was because I was the only one fully armoured and mounted. More likely because I was looking equally confused, and all expected me to let myself be led back to my cell while somebody, _anybody_, explained what had occurred on my last quest. 

When I look back, I think that Master knew what had happened to me before I did. He knew my heart no longer lay with the Order, that this prisoner had forever shifted my loyalties. Yet I still wonder what would have occurred if his words had been different. I would have left, and likely in disgrace, but I would not have been named one of the fallen. Though she would have died had I not saved her, and her murder may have driven me down the same path. It is not my place to know. 

"He is not cursed! The God has forsaken him! Hold him!" Eyes became hard at those words and blades were drawn. I was forced to draw my own sword in defence even as I spurred my horse onto the platform, the only clear place within reach. The two guarding her leapt at me but my seat gave me the advantage and both fell within seconds. I think I may have killed one, and at that moment I knew that by all the codes I had ever lived by, I was lost.

I was barely thinking by then, living only on the training and instincts which had protected me so often in the past. She had turned her back to me and lifted her arms, and with one deft swipe her bonds were severed and I was dragging her into the saddle behind me. The alarm was spreading even as my warhorse sprang from the platform and raced into the forest and momentary safety. 

It was there my horse halted and anxiously pawed at the earth. I dismounted and tried fruitlessly to soothe him. She slid down too and spent a few minutes using a strip of her shirt to bind a long slash down her forearm. It took me a moment to realise I must have put it there in my rush to free her. I almost offered to heal it until I remembered I no longer could. She noticed me standing there staring blankly at nothing and raised a hand to my horse's head. He stepped back with a snort, sides quivering, and she gave a grim smile. "He won't suffer my touch. He's a paladin's mount, and I'm a devil worshiper." There was sadness in her words. "I don't think he'd take you now either. I'm sorry." I knew it was true. The journey this far was one of instinct, neither mount not man thinking of anything other than flight. Now I was an outcast and undeserving of him. I slid my shield from my arm and traced the holy symbol upon it, still numb, not yet fully comprehending what I had done. He let me lash my shield to the saddle, and remained still while I fumbled with the chain around my neck and knotted it to his bridle, so that the silver emblem rested in his mane. I stroked his nose. "Go, my friend. I would not have you suffer for my actions." 

He took part of me as he trotted away. I had lost everything. First my divine support, then my oaths and honour, and now my horse and the holy symbols of my former God and Order. I was nothing but another swordsman with a price on my head and little time before my former fellows came to claim it. I sank down on a rock and rested my head in my hands.

She knelt down beside me. I told her to leave, before our path was traced and the Order killed as both. Her rebuke was swift. I had not only spared her but saved her life and she was not about to let me be killed for doing what I felt was right. There was another cell of worshipers nearby that would shelter us. I objected. She could hardly reveal her friends' location to me. She only scoffed. I could hardly tell anyone. Besides, she commented as she dragged me to my feet and began leading me rapidly away, she would have thought that was the last argument I would make. 

We reached shelter without incident, only once having to hide while several of the Order cantered past. I wondered how often I had noisily ridden past my prey in just the same way. There was more of an issue once we arrived and she had to convince her friends it was not a trap. In the end I surrendered my sword, with less reluctance than I should. I spent a while in despair, confined not by the cult but by the intensifying hunt and the rumours spread about me. She was always there, trying to draw me out of my depression, reassuring me, pointing out half truths, differences and similarities and gradually drawing me deeper into the darkness.

I knew I had truly fallen when I was allowed to watch a sacrifice and felt no rage, not even a whisper of objection. I did not participate, only watch silently from a corner. The victim was only a petty murderer. I found my empathy was with the worshiper with the knife.

I began helping her a little after that, small things like preparing incense at first, then acting as her guard when we travelled to a larger shrine in another city. Perhaps that is when love blossomed; I think however that it had grown long before, and only now did I notice. The seeds had been planted when I had first spared her, sealed by saving her and by her saving me. My involvement in the cult grew as I followed her, my only anchor left. Some laughed at the former paladin reduced to a beaten shell; some glared at me suspiciously, unsure of my motives. I didn't care. Slowly, very slowly, the cult began to fill the void the Order had left. And she stood by my side the night the devil prince himself chose to fill the circle that could never hold him and stepped out of it to look down as I knelt before him. He accepted my oaths and offered me back much of that I had lost and more besides, and I had a family and a purpose again, and someone who would stand beside me and be my guide when I faltered. 

For sometimes we fall to rise again stronger.


End file.
